


Late Night Unlucky

by TheMockingCrows



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Sex, Nudity, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingCrows/pseuds/TheMockingCrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why is it when you need to get laid the most, absolutely everything will go out of its way to go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Unlucky

This was not how things were normally supposed to go. Dave knew it, he was an expert on things relating to sex and hijinks. Sort of. Well. Okay, he was an expert as far as some basic experience and his current boyfriend John atop twenty odd years of pornography and literature had accrued within him. Nowhere in his extended viewing and personal experiences had he ever seen this happen in a situation regarding sex.

Maybe he saw it once in some chick flick he and his brother had flipped to while they ate ice cream at three a.m. one summer, and it stuck in his mind, slowly settling into a spiral that would someday affect his real life. Licking the whipped cream off his hand during the eventual sappy love scene that followed was surely the chaos effect that had led to this exact moment.

Why else would Dave be soaked to the bone from the rain in his hoodie and baggy jeans that he could only pray at least halfway hid the painful erection he was still sporting at three in the morning trying to find lube in a convenience store? In what sane universe did that even happen?

For fucks sake, he should be getting his brains fucked out right now by a blue eyed babe with bed head, not catching pneumonia with a hard on to soothing muzak blaring from the speakers as if battling for dominance with the greasy, yellow scent of roller hot dogs and mystery meat burritos. (Buy the nachos with self service cheese and lightly irradiated jalapeño slices, get fifty cents off your second burrito de misterio this week only!)

This was entirely John's fault.

No. It actually was, and Dave had already decided he would not forgive him for this for quite some time to come. This was totally John's fault.

“...Are you kidding me? Dude. Come on, we're dating, young, and our libidos have already proven we could give rabbits a run for their money if time and body is willing. Did you legit just forget to restock last time you hit up the store?” Dave asked as he rummaged through John's bedside drawer.

They were already naked, Dave on his knees on the bed, back arched as he balanced with one hand on the tabletop and the other swishing drawer contents around. Not a condom in sight, and the lube bottle was bone dry aside from a sad little squirt like the watery, forgotten contents of the bottom of the ketchup bottle that nobody ever wants to put on their food. Not enough for what they had planned.

John was pressed close behind him, kissing at his back, dick eagerly poking at the back of his thigh, big hands trailing along his stomach and sides. Trying to lure him backwards so he could get back to tasting him, feeling him, making his toes curl and his body writhe.

“I couldn't buy any the last few times, because every time I was gonna go to the store, Dad gave me a ride and then came in with me.”

“And?”

“Dave. I'm not buying condoms and lube in front of my dad, do you even know how awkward that would be?”

“Wouldn't he be proud you're not going to sire any illegitimate ass children, though?”

“Dave.”

“Come on, John, we can name him after you.”

“Dave.”

“Bro'd have a katana wedding for us at the nearest Dairy Queen. Ice cream cake after the smooch, fuck yes. Make an honest chick outta m-”

“Dave. You're making it want to retract, shut up. This is like. The least sexy talk I've ever heard from you,” John said. Dave could just imagine the pout playing across his lips, the big sad eyes as he lay a wet smooch at the base of his spine. “Besides, it's not a total washout. We can still do this, you know.”

Dave sighed and reached behind himself as he desperately looked under books and loose odds and ends for even a single lubricated condom, swatting at John's head when he tried to go lower.

“I'm all ears, babe, because I'm not seeing jack shit over here.”

“Barebacking is a thing I'd be cool with, I know we're both clean. And I've got access to a shower for the literal clean, too.”

Dave's toes curled at the idea, knowing it would feel pretty damn intense by comparison.. but that still left one problem.

“That's great, but. Big issue is still there's no lube, and not to swell your ego, but you don't fit so fuckin' well without it. There is a will, but the way is painful.”

“You're a big baby. You know that?” John sighed as he straightened up to return to simply holding Dave from behind, nuzzling between his shoulder blades as the searching finally came to a halt. “Well.. I think there's some cooking oil downstairs? Canola I think, or something like that. Olive might be possible too.”

“John, does my ass confuse you for a turkey or a baked good or something? I know I'm hot, but leave that shit for the deep fryer. That is going nowhere near my Hershey highway, got it?” Dave said none too quietly, ruffled from the very suggestion. Fucking cooking oil? Is he serious? He idly wondered if that's part of what led to his last breakup or not, if this was part of the Egbert emergency repertoire or something. Some old, terrible home method passed through the family by hushed word of mouth a few years after the birds and the bees were sorted out, confused somewhere along the line from the kitchen secret note cards.

“We've got frosting to-” was all that John managed to get out before Dave elbowed him none too gently, hopping up out of bed to yank on John's jeans (they were closer) and his own hoodie, looking for shoes to jam his feet into.

“I am going to the store, and I am buying at least some Trojans with lube on them, and then I am coming back. You owe me. A lot. I'm talking at -least- twice tonight, I'm not riding, and if you tack on a good back rub before we sleep tonight, I think it might reduce my wrath a bit.”

John, still naked and now rubbing a sore spot on his side, flopped back onto his bed with a huffy sigh, nodding.

“I am sorry about this, Dave. I won't let it happen again.”

“Oh, trust me, I know you won't. If you're too embarrassed to buy them half the time in the store because of your dad, let me introduce you to the wonders of the internet. Or my brother and his ability to hide shit in places you never even knew your house -had-. Or me, even, I'm here all the time,” Dave added as he scooped up his wallet and tugged the hood up over his hair, already headed for the door. “This won't take long, I'll be right back. Okay?”

The lump of his boyfriend sighed and nodded, raising a string bean arm to wave at him as the door unlocked and he headed out for the stairs. “Just be quiet, I don't want Dad to come ask where you went and why you came back. He might show up with some kind of apology dessert on my behalf.”

No, seriously, he might. Dave had received three such cakes, once for an actual argument, once for a supposed argument, and once because of a too loud discussion they were having about a movie that had only recently come out. He had no desire for a fourth so soon.

Nobody told him how cold it was going to be that night, almost seeing his breath, hands clasped tightly together in the front pocket. They also didn't say a damn thing he could recall about the weather suddenly going from frigid to frigid with a stupidly high chance of rain, because the washout could have been avoided entirely if he'd just suggested blowjobs and called it a night.

It was a pride thing that dragged him the last few blocks. Pride to correct the suggestion of cooking oil and frosting up his ass as a possible alternative, even if one was a joke. Showing up empty handed was not an option.

… though, if he couldn't make up his mind soon, that would be the case. How many condom brands and sex products does one gas station really need? The dim sound of the bell went off now and then as someone pulled in for an early morning fill up or nicotine fix, coffee thermoses filled for the long haul. The distant hum of a hand dryer made Dave lose his focus, realizing he needed to relieve himself. Carefully. It was just an erection, it wouldn't be that hard to urinate. Right?

Though at a little under half mast by now, it was still difficult to direct himself and the outcomes without leaning his upper body against the wall as though in front of the firing squad, trying his best not to force any ricochet onto his shoes. The hand dryer afterward, drying his hair off a little as well, was at least some form of a reward. Some warmth.

Right. Condoms.

What brand, holy fuck. There were at least ten kinds, ranging from her pleasure to things with ribs, flavors, french ticklers. One advertised that it had excitement gel on it that heated up and cooled down. Sounded a bit too much like Icy Hot for his liking, and there was no way anything close to muscle rub was going in such a sensitive spot. Add in the cheap shit in the bathroom that glowed in the dark and would last about five minutes in a tight pinch, Dave was no closer to making up his mind.

He saw a few brands that advertised they were lubricated with simple lube instead of something useless to their needs like spermicide or probable burning ring of fire jelly, and narrowed his search. It brought on new problems.

“...John, how big is your dick,” he murmured to himself, coughing when he realized someone had walked behind him to get to the cooler in the back of the store, wondering if they overheard. If the mans name was also John, that would make one hell of an interesting walk back in the dark. The sizes offered were something of another mystery. If he was above a certain size, it would be more comfortable for him to wear a larger make. If it was too big, though.. then the condom would simply fall off of him and would be absolutely useless.

Why the fuck couldn't they just stock some lube? Was it something bad? Was it somehow worse than a rainbow of condoms and promised STD blockers, to offer some comfort without catching the baby gravy being its main priority for existing?

Mumbling again, Dave snatched two Trojan packs, a larger size and a regular size. Whichever one didn't fit was gonna be big awkward balloons in John's bedroom in the morning, or water balloons in the driveway the next afternoon, and he'd just have to deal with it. Worth the cost.

Whoa. Okay, the impersonations and hot dogs and the imitation of real foods were kind of not that appetizing, but there were taquitos over there. The thick kind. Dave's stomach growled as he was caught up in the thought of food, wondering if they'd be worth the money. Maybe he should just have something else. Something quick. Maybe some doughnuts, or a muffin. Maybe a Slim Jim, get his months worth of preservatives in one hit.

No, maybe a coffee. It was cold as hell outside and ten times as wet. But the truckers were hoarding the coffee and guarding the coffee machines and cocoa machines with a well practiced huddle, herding and milling about as they sorted out the first of many rounds to come.

“You need help, son?”

Yes, he needed help, he needed lube and a snack and a coffee and he didn't want to walk back in the cold, holy shit he was too skinny for this. John was crazy to handle the cold so well, jackass could walk outside in the snow in shorts and goof around for hours without even raising a hair, if Dave walked outside without mittens he started losing digits.

“Son?”

A warm hand clapped his shoulder from behind, and the condoms went flying. Along with a good portion of the ones on the shelf, as well as the spanish fly drops, the cologne that promised it had pheromones in it and the french tickler add on.

“...Son? You okay there?” The voice belonged to one of the clerks, come to check on him because he'd zoned out. Was likely used to the local stoners or alkies zoning out mid-store, wanted to keep his aisles clear before the morning really got started in a few hours. “Looked like you were ready to fall asleep.”

Fall asleep? Ah, shit, right. He'd left his shades at John's when he came here, not in the mood to wear them for such a simple thing as buying condoms. Like an adult. Like a totally calm adult who completely didn't almost piss his pants in the middle of a gas station because a grown man touched his shoulder while he was thinking about dicks and snacks and rain and--

Wow, how long had he been just staring at him like that?

“Fuc- Ah. Sorry, man, been a long night. Let me pick that up for ya,” Dave added as he dropped into a crouch and began to pick the odds and ends up, finally just scooping them all up into his hands and dumping them in a pile on the shelf once the clerk told him to do that instead. Trying to get him to leave the store before he started acting more erratic. Don't lose your cool. Just get your dick coverlets and get the hell out.

The total was less than expected, one of the condom packages being on sale at the time, and it put Dave into a slightly better mood. He was no longer aroused as he began to walk back through the lessening rain with the boxes jammed firmly into the front of his hoodie, trudging the last few blocks, dodging dancing puddles of water in the orange tinted lights of the street lamps.

The Egbert family carpet was soggy as he walked over it, dripping up the stairs, opening John's door with what he hoped was a triumphant smirk.

“Guess who's back with the golden ticket, Jo-”

John was wiping himself down with a wad of tissue paper, wilted dick in one hand, face startled as a deer in headlights. He'd gotten his jollies out, and quite thoroughly if the trajectory spattered along his chest was any indication of direction and velocity. His cellphone rested on the side of his bed, opened to one of their private folders. Dave could recognize a shot of his own body from across the room as well as anyone else.

They stared at each other, John still caught in slowly trying to wipe the quickly drying come from his torso, Dave steadily oozing a puddle of rain water onto the floor.

“Uh... Welcome back?”

There were screams in the Egbert household that night. Screams loud enough to wake John's father and send him to his sons room, wondering what the sounds of displeasure and discomfort were about. The sight of Dave Strider, fully clothed and soaked with ice water latched onto his naked sons body like a spider monkey was burned solidly into his retinas, making him thankful they'd not noticed him opening the door.

Slowly, he descended the stairs and headed towards the kitchen as John continued to shriek about the cold and damp invading his bed to the pre-dawn world, mind alive. He was pretty sure brunch would be better than breakfast at the rate they were likely planning on going to bed. The only thing Mr. Egbert was uncertain of, actually, was what kind of cake would be appropriate for this situation, and who exactly would be getting the finished product.

**Author's Note:**

> Original tumblr post- http://themockingcrows.tumblr.com/post/58549590850/late-night-unlucky


End file.
